


The Botanical Compendium

by ThirstyForRed



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Epistolary, F/F, In a way, The Black Emporium Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25973419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirstyForRed/pseuds/ThirstyForRed
Summary: Surana writes on the margins of books in the library. She doesn't care for the identity of the person that so poetically answers her - she falls for them anyway.Amell finds it easy to love the girl she sees in their shared quarters and never act on it. The new pen-pal and their humorous letters make days in Kinloch brighter.
Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana (Dragon Age)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 16
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	The Botanical Compendium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Titania_sleeps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titania_sleeps/gifts).



She was bored out of her mind. Trying to comprehend the text in the book, but letters kept dancing around like they never wanted to form together words. It was tiring. Even detailed drawings of herbs seemed to mock her. Surana looked left and right, but no one in the library paid her ounce of mind - all other mages were just as bored, hunching over their tomes acting as if so late in the night they could understand anything. Yet, staying in the library for the night seemed like a better option than going to sleeping quarters. Less miserable.

Surana once again looked at the Botanical Compendium in front of her. It wasn't a bad book, quite on the contrary, it was one of the best sources of modern knowledge on all kinds of plants one would find in Thedas. That's why Kinholt library had over ten editions of it - it was one of the most often requested for books. Only second to traveling journals of brother Genitivi. This particular example was one of the old ones, with the spine almost completely broken from opening and closing it for years, and with the red ribbon used as a bookmark so frayed, it could barely be called ribbon anymore. But it was probably Surana's favorite book. Almost like it had a soul of its own, created by all other mages that over the years studied from it. From the breath they exhaled on these pages and notes they left on margins.

Surana loved reading others' thoughts - small to-do lists, notes about herbs and plants, ideas for new spells, snippets of poetry. She would go over every page every few weeks just to see if there's something new, letters in cursive she has never seen before. And this time there was something.

In the chapter about orlesian flora, next to an illustration of dalish lilies, few new lines appeared in the last weeks, they curved in neat handwriting. Almost a poem, but too much to be just a loose thought, too polished. Surana bent over the book, her nose almost touching pages, just to see it clearly. As if being so near she could peer into the author's souls and understand their intentions completely.

> _ You're in the Kinholt and I can’t tell you how many have stood where you stand now.  _ _ Men see a strange shape preserved in the rock and they think, “Time is vast”.  _ _ But the truth is far more disturbing. Time is endless. _

She reread it over and over again, amazed that someone was able to, with so few words, convey her own thoughts on this tower. Kinholt wasn't a prison - not in name. And yet, it was so much like one.

She felt the sudden urge to respond to whoever wrote this, somehow making them know that she also feels this. Even if the chances that they would reach for the Botanical Compendium and look at the dalish lilies again was so low. Never before she wanted so desperately to know the right words, to put her thoughts just right. Make them as poetic and deep.

She grabbed a pencil and with tongue picking thought the front teeth, she started writing small letters.

* * *

Everyone in the tower had their own small routines, hobbies, things only for them, which had nothing to do with classes, studies, or templars. Amell liked to observe people.

She would for hours sit in the classrooms, library, sleeping quarters, observing them as if they were interesting subjects. As if she wasn't trapped here with them. But it tended to take her mind of the other, more miserable, topics.

Especially she liked to do this in the library, partially hidden behind the big tome, sitting in the corner. And she watched them moving, wandering around, reading and practicing simple spells. But in the last weeks, Amell found herself reaching for the Botanical Compendium not just because it was one of the biggest tomes. There was something waiting for her on the pages - almost someone. Only their words and handwriting, and yet it was... Intriguing?

> _ I haven’t slept all night, I’m vibrating slightly but constantly, and I’m pretty sure I just tasted the Maker. How are You doing? _

She raised her head to look at the rest of the library. Mages, milling around like bees in a wild, queenless hive. Templars, always on the ready, always with the half-false, half-genuine smiles. At the sun coming inside and dancing on stones through the stained glass windows. Here's Andraste, and Maferat, and Hessarian, and there Maker and his first-borne spirits, and Divines... All in colors, all vibrating, all beautiful and eternal. And so, so fragile.

Amell wondered if that's how her pen-pal felt. If that's how they looked. But instead, she scribed small letters, right underneath their message.

> _ I'm Alive. Melancholic. And worried whenever you write of your sleepless nights. I wish I knew how to make it easier for you. _

* * *

Surana could call them _sweet_ \- all those messages they exchanged so far. But that word never truly described this feeling, emotion, she felt each time she found a new line of neat cursive. It was indescribable. There was warmness to it, and knowledge of being simply seen - even if they had yet to meet face to face.

How much the other clearly cared for her.

> _ Lifehack: Sleep when you’re dead. We’re all dead inside already. So sleep whenever and everywhere, but not in Sleeping Quarters. _
> 
> _ Please, go to sleep at normal hours! Checking the book after midnight and then seeing your response to me before breakfast stresses me so much! _
> 
> _ Then stop checking at the crack of dawn if I already answered you, silly. _
> 
> _ I can't - your handwriting is the only thing that gives me the strength to keep going every day. Even if you write such silly things. _

Maybe it could be called _love._

* * *

Of course, Amell, from her various hiding and observing spots, would try to catch a glimpse of her friend. To unravels this tiny mystery. It wasn't important to know how they are, but she was a curious creature in nature. She tried to find them between the bookstands and in the hallways, in communal sleeping quarters. And there were so many people...

Often she found her eyes straying to a figure of the elven girl, the same she was been seeing in their sleeping chamber. The same she desperately wished to be friends with, until she realized that what she really seeks is not friendship. The girl was bright and happy, and so enveloped in her own studies and friends. In the end, Amell found it easier to only observe her. To care and seek out her smile a little less... To care for the pen-pal a little more.

> _ It's been a week since your last note, are you alright? _
> 
> _ I am. I just haven't slept in two days. But I feel fine. I can sing the Chant for hours and have enough strength to fight maleficars with my bare hands to be called Andraste, too. _
> 
> _ Be cautious, someone might call jokes like this blasphemous. I wouldn't want you to have to pay for it. _
> 
> _ Oh, I’m paying for my sins. We all are. In this fine tower, they build for us. _

They drew a small face underneath. Smiling in irony. 

> _ We are not sinners. No one should pay like this. I like to believe it’ll all be alright in the end. _
> 
> _ Depending on how you define ‘alright’ and how you define ‘end.’ _

Amell touched the last line once again, thinking about what kind of answer she could give to that. In the end, she drew - small, skew face, frowning, and sad.

* * *

> _ I feel like I haven’t seen the world outside the library in so long. _
> 
> _ Have you seen the world outside of the tower? _
> 
> _ No, not recently. But I try to think that there isn't much beyond the tower - even if I know better. It makes me feel... less sad. _
> 
> _ Sometimes I dream about the outside. It always seems too bright to be real, too bright to see all the details. _
> 
> _ In my dreams horizons are always blurred and unrecognizable. _

After writing the last line, Surana sighed closing the book and moved to put it back on place. Through the weeks of their writing, they moved from the lilies to carnations, then violets to lavenders. Soon they would have a whole bouquet. She almost could smell them...

There was a girl standing by the self where the Botanical Compendiums normally stood. And so clearly she was looking for one specific issue.

Surana smiled.

"I wrote that I wish I could go into your dreams. Let my face take your mind off the horizon."

* * *

They laid on Amell's bed, underneath Surana's blankets. It was warming, and sweet, and... lovely.

"Sometimes I'm afraid that if I keep saying 'I love you' it will slowly lose its meaning." whispered softly the elven girl. _Surana._

But Amell only smiled, kissed her nose, the tip, the space between the eyes, and then her eyelids. "Why would it? Does the sun lose its light just because it rises every morning?"

**Author's Note:**

> that first message is slightly edited quote from the Outsider in the Dishonored


End file.
